Chapter 6:The Bitter Trap

Iliyana woke up with a sharp ache spreading across her spine. She hadn't touched the huge mattress; she had spent the long night curled up against the cold baseboard in the far corner. 

Pale morning light cut through the drapes. Within seconds, reality hit her chest like a stone—the ruined wedding, the forced signatures, and being dragged into this gilded cage.

A sudden knock broke the quiet.

She got to her feet, brushed off her rumpled clothes, and pulled the heavy door open.

A young maid stood in the hallway holding a neat stack of folded fabrics and fresh towels. The girl instantly lowered her head.

"Good morning, Queen."

Iliyana flinched. "My name is Iliyana. Just use that."

The girl's eyes widened in panic. "No, please. The master was clear. It is either Queen or Ma'am."

"Then Ma'am. Never the other word."

"Yes, ma'am," the maid whispered, offering the pile. "Please take a shower and change. I have breakfast coming right up."

Iliyana stepped back, crossing her arms. "Take it away. I don't want his charity."

The girl looked close to tears, her fingers digging nervously into the cloth. "Please don't refuse. If you don't eat and change, he will throw me out on the street. I have nowhere else to go... I need this job."

Iliyana looked at the raw fear in the girl's eyes. Her stubbornness faded. She knew that exact dread—living paycheck to paycheck, terrified of starving. She couldn't ruin an innocent life just to prove a point.

"Alright," Iliyana said, taking the clothes. "I'll take them."

"Thank you, ma'am," the maid breathed, hurrying away.

Iliyana stepped into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the hot water. The steam washed away the dried tears and grime from yesterday. 

After stepping out, she shook out the provided navy maxi gown. But as she picked up the intimate wear tucked inside, her blood ran cold.

Every single piece—the cut, the cups, the waistline—fit her exact measurements down to the seam.

A sick feeling churned in her gut. How long had that monster been tracking her? A ruthless crime boss knowing her most personal sizes meant she hadn't just crossed his path by accident; he had been studying her long before tearing her life apart.

She pulled the navy fabric over her head and stepped out into the bedroom. 

A silver tray sat on the side table with toast, fruit, and warm eggs. Her stomach cramped with hollow hunger. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.

She moved toward the plate, but an angry buzz broke the silence.

Her old mobile was vibrating beside the bed.

She grabbed it. The screen flashed: Dad.

Her throat tightened as she pressed it to her ear. "Dad?"

A ragged wheeze scraped through the speaker. Her father’s voice was barely a gasp, dripping with agony.

"Iliyana... please... you have to come..."

Panic spiked through her veins. "What happened?!"

"My chest... it feels like it's being crushed... I can't breathe, my child... take me to the hospital... please..."

Iliyana stopped breathing.

My child.

He had never spoken to her like that. She had spent twenty-two years being treated like an unwanted bill he was forced to pay. Hearing that softness, mixed with dying breaths, wiped away every bitter thought.

"Hold on, Dad! Stay still, I'm coming right now!"

She cut the line, trembling. She couldn't let him die alone on that couch.

She reached for the door, then paused. The guards downstairs would never let her walk out. She needed something dangerous to make them clear a path.

She sprinted to the dark wooden vanity, yanking open the drawers. Papers, watches, silver links—she tossed them all aside. In the bottom compartment, her knuckles brushed against something freezing, heavy, and solid wrapped under black silk.

She didn't stop to inspect it. She grabbed the steel object, tucked it behind her lower back beneath the wide folds of her gown, and dashed down the hall.

She flew down the grand stairs toward the front exit.

Net stood by the heavy double doors, flanked by two armed men. Hearing her rush down, he stepped into her path, his broad frame blocking the light.

"You cannot leave, ma'am. The Boss gave strict orders."

"Get out of my way!" Iliyana shouted, panic cracking her voice. "My father is having a heart attack! Move!"

Net stayed rooted. "Go back upstairs. I will not repeat myself."

"I said move!"

She whipped her hand out, thrusting the heavy iron forward and pointing the muzzle straight between his eyes.

"Step aside or I pull it!"

Net’s face drained of every ounce of blood. The breath died in his throat.

It wasn't just any firearm.

It was the custom matte-black piece—John Alex’s sacred weapon. That specific iron had ended every rival across the city. Nobody touched it. Even his top lieutenants were forbidden from brushing against it under threat of execution.

And now, this shaking girl held it inches from his nose.

Net forced his breathing steady, watching her unsteady wrists. "Go ahead and pull it, ma'am. I took an oath. I'd rather take your slug than face what the Boss will do if I let you walk."

Iliyana saw the cold truth in his stare. Threatening his life wouldn't work—and she couldn't murder a guard in cold blood.

Without hesitating, she spun the weapon around.

She slammed the cold barrel flush against her own temple.

The shake in her hands vanished. Her finger rested firm against the curved trigger.

"You don't care about your life?" she whispered, her eyes dead and cold. "Fine. Take one more step. Let's see what your Boss does to you when he comes back and finds my brains painted across his floor."

Net froze. Cold sweat broke out along his collar.

His own death was nothing. But this was total ruin. If John Alex returned to find his bride dead—or even bruised—every man breathing under this roof would be skinned alive.

"Wait! Don't do that!" Net yelled, throwing his palms up and stepping back fast. "Drop it! Please!"

"Open the exit!" she ordered.

Net shouted at his guards, his composure completely shattered. "Open the damn doors! Let her through! Move!"

The oak doors flew open.

Iliyana didn't look back. She bolted into the gravel courtyard, spotted an idling black vehicle near the gates, threw herself behind the wheel, and slammed the gas.

The tires shrieked as she blew past the iron gates and merged into the morning traffic.

Her grip on the wheel was white-hot the entire ride.

Ten minutes later, she skidded to a stop outside her father's crumbling porch. She kicked the door open and sprinted inside.

"Dad?!"

The living room reeked of cheap liquor. On the worn couch, David sat slumped over, one hand clawing at his chest, his gray face slick with sweat as his breathing rattled.

"Dad!" She dropped to the rug, tears spilling over.

David cracked his swollen lids. "My child... hospital... hurry..."

"I've got you," she cried, pulling his heavy arm across her shoulders to haul him up.

She strained with everything she had, dragging him off the cushions. But just as she turned toward the hallway, thick fingers clamped around her wrist like iron shackles.

A brutal jerk ripped her backward.

The violent pull broke her grip on David. The older man crashed back onto the cushions, his eyes rolling up as he blacked out completely.

Iliyana spun, gasping.

Adrin towered over her, wearing a sickening grin.

"Adrin?!" she choked out, twisting violently against his hold. "Let go of me! He's dying, I have to get him to an emergency room!"

Adrin sneered, hauling her flush against his chest and pinning her ribs with one thick arm. "Forget the old drunk. He spent your life treating you like dirt, and now that his chest is giving out, you run back to play the dutiful daughter?"

"Shut up!" Iliyana thrashed, clawing at his skin and kicking his shins. "Get your filthy hands off me!"

Adrin only laughed, squeezing until her lungs burned.

Fury snapped inside her. Iliyana tore one wrist free and threw her entire weight into a strike.

The slap cracked loud in the small room. Adrin's cheek snapped to the right.

Dead quiet settled over the house.

He slowly turned his head back. His jaw was locked, his pupils black with venom.

Before she could pull away, his heavy backhand slammed across her face.

The force threw Iliyana across the floorboards. Pain ripped through her skull as her lower lip split, warm blood leaking down her jaw.

Adrin dropped down, grabbing her face hard enough to bruise the bone, forcing her chin up.

"Listen close, you little bitch," he growled, spraying spit onto her cheek. "Your dying father took thousands in cash from me to hand you over! You belong to me. Did you really think I wanted you for your sweet personality? I never gave a damn about a ring. I wanted this body, and I always collect what I pay for."

A twisted grin spread across his mouth.

"Alex took the ceremony? Fine. The wedding night still belongs to me."

He hauled her off the floor, tossing her over his shoulder like dead cargo.

Iliyana screamed, slamming her fists into his spine, pleading for help as tears smeared the blood across her face. But the house stayed dead silent.

Adrin kicked the front door shut, carrying her out into the waiting nightmare.